Darkness swallowed Lexander.
The first thing he noticed was that the screaming had stopped.
The second was that the he was no longer without a weapon, as a very peculiar looking spear lay beside him.
He stopped walking.
Behind him, somewhere beyond the wall of darkness, Lysandra shouted—
“LEXANDER!”
He turned.
There was nothing.
No torchlight.
No soldiers.
No First Grave.
Only darkness stretching behind him in an endless black corridor.
“Wonderful.”
His voice disappeared into the void.
He tightened his grip around the spear.
It felt different now.
He looked down.
The weapon was long.
Longer than the broken spear Mara had carried.
The wood had become dark and smooth, almost black, though strange lines of gold ran through it like veins beneath skin.
At its tip rested a blade.
Not iron.
Not silver.
Something older.
The metal reflected no light.
Yet Lexander could see himself in it.
He frowned.
His reflection frowned back.
“Don’t.”
The reflection smiled.
Lexander immediately pointed the spear at it.
“I am getting very tired of you doing that.”
The reflection disappeared.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then a voice whispered from somewhere ahead.
“Lexander.”
He ran.
The corridor changed as he moved.
At first, there were walls.
Ancient stone.
Then trees.
A forest.
Then a battlefield.
Lexander stopped.
Bodies covered the ground.
Thousands of them.
Men.
Women.
Creatures he did not recognize.
Giants.
Monsters.
Things with too many limbs and faces.
The sky burned red.
In the distance, something enormous collapsed.
The earth shook.
Lexander stumbled.
A memory struck him.
Not one of the seven lives.
Something older.
Far older.
He saw a great hall.
A throne.
A raven landing upon his shoulder.
He saw wolves.
A woman beside him.
Beautiful.
Fierce.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Io.
No.
Not Io.
And yet—
“Yes.”
Lexander spun.
The ancient stranger stood several feet behind him.
The First.
Lexander stared.
“You followed me.”
“No.”
The man looked around the battlefield.
“I was already here.”
Lexander’s grip tightened around the spear.
“What is this?”
The stranger looked toward the burning sky.
“The end.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Lexander stepped closer.
“Where is Io?”
The stranger’s expression darkened.
“With him.”
“The Keeper?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we standing here?”
The First looked at him.
“Because you cannot reach him until you remember why he wants you dead.”
Lexander laughed bitterly.
“Oh, is that all?”
The battlefield vanished.
Lexander fell.
Cold water closed over his head.
He opened his mouth.
Screamed.
And drowned.
Again.
He broke through the surface.
Gasping.
The water vanished.
He was standing inside the old chapel.
Io stood before him.
Younger.
Different.
Her hair was longer.
Her clothing belonged to another age.
She was crying.
“Please.”
Lexander stared.
“Io?”
She couldn’t hear him.
She was looking at someone else.
A man lying on the floor.
Blood covered his chest.
Lexander moved closer.
Then stopped.
The man was him.
Not the Lexander he knew.
Not the stranger.
Someone else.
But the same.
Io dropped to her knees beside the dying man.
“No.”
She pressed both hands against his wound.
“No, no, no.”
The dying man smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
Io screamed.
The memory shattered.
Another.
Fire.
Lexander saw himself.
Older.
Holding a sword.
Io stood behind him.
A child cried somewhere in the darkness.
Then—
Blood.
A blade.
His own death.
Another memory.
Snow.
Another.
The sea.
Another.
A battlefield.
Another.
Fire again.
Lexander staggered beneath the weight of them.
“Stop.”
The memories continued.
“I said stop!”
The First grabbed him.
Everything vanished.
Lexander collapsed onto his knees.
The ancient man stood above him.
“You wanted to know.”
Lexander looked up.
His eyes burned.
“I wanted to know where Io is.”
“And you will never reach her if you don’t understand.”
Lexander pushed himself upright.
“Understand what?”
The First looked toward the spear.
Lexander followed his gaze.
The weapon hummed.
Quietly.
Almost—
Hungrily.
“What is this?”
For the first time, the ancient man’s expression changed.
Recognition.
Fear.
“No.”
Lexander frowned.
“What?”
The First stepped backward.
“That wasn’t here before.”
“It was a broken spear.”
“No.”
The man shook his head.
“That is not a spear.”
Lexander looked down at the weapon.
The dark wood.
The golden veins.
The impossible blade.
“What is it?”
The First didn’t answer.
The battlefield returned.
But this time—
Someone stood at its center.
A man.
He wore green.
At least—
Lexander thought he did.
Every time he looked directly at him, the colors changed.
Green.
Black.
Gold.
Blood-red.
The man smiled.
Lexander felt hatred rise inside him.
Not his hatred.
Something older.
Something buried.
The First went still.
“No.”
The man in the distance began walking toward them.
His footsteps made no sound.
Lexander raised the spear.
“Who is that?”
The First whispered—
“You don’t remember him.”
The man stopped.
He smiled wider.
“Not yet.”
Lexander’s blood turned cold.
The stranger’s voice was warm.
Almost friendly.
That somehow made it worse.
“Hello, father.”
The First closed his eyes.
Lexander looked between them.
“What?”
The stranger laughed.
“Oh.”
He placed one hand against his chest.
“Where are my manners?”
He bowed.
The battlefield bowed with him.
Even the dead seemed to move.
“I have been called many things.”
Lexander tightened his grip.
The man smiled.
“But you knew me by another name.”
The spear began to shake.
Lexander heard a raven cry.
Then another.
The stranger’s face changed.
For one heartbeat—
He wasn’t human.
A wolf.
A snake.
An old woman.
A beautiful young man.
A monster with too many teeth.
Then—
Human again.
“Loki.”
The name came from Lexander’s mouth.
Silence.
The stranger stopped smiling.
The First stared at Lexander.
Loki slowly straightened.
And laughed.
“There you are.”
The memory came like lightning.
A great hall.
Gold.
Fire.
Laughter.
Loki sitting across from him.
Not an enemy.
A friend.
A son.
Lexander gasped.
Another memory.
Loki beside him on a battlefield.
Another.
The two of them laughing as a radiant goddess shouted at them.
Another.
Io.
No.
Frigg.
Standing beside Lexander.
Her hand in his.
Her smile.
Love.
A love so deep that Lexander nearly fell beneath its weight.
Then—
Ragnarök.
Fire.
The sky splitting open.
The dead walking.
The world ending.
Lexander screamed.
Loki watched.
His expression was no longer amused.
“You remember that.”
Lexander fell to his knees, as he pulled his hair as though to rip it free.
The spear struck the ground.
The earth shook.
The First moved toward him.
“Lexander.”
Lexander grabbed his head.
“I remember—”
The battlefield changed.
A wolf.
Enormous.
Its jaws closing around a man.
A scream.
Blood.
One eye.
Lexander froze.
The vision vanished.
He touched his face.
Both eyes remained.
For now.
Loki watched him.
“You always did want to know everything, you even gave your own flesh at the well.”
Lexander looked up.
Something ancient stared through his eyes.
The First stepped backward.
Lexander whispered—
“Ragnarök.”
Loki smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
The name struck the world like thunder.
The sky above them opened.
Lexander saw everything.
Not clearly.
Not completely.
Fragments.
The final battle.
Gods falling.
Monsters dying.
Fire consuming the world.
And at its center—
Himself.
Not Lexander.
Not the First.
A man wearing armor beneath a torn cloak.
An old man.
A king.
A god.
He held the same spear.
Loki’s voice echoed through the memory.
“You were dying.”
The vision showed him falling.
The spear leaving his hand.
A woman reaching for him.
Frigg.
Io.
Her scream.
Lexander’s chest tightened.
“No.”
The First whispered—
“She was there.”
Loki looked at him.
“Yes.”
The vision continued.
Odin—
Lexander—
Falling.
His body broken.
His soul—
Shattering.
Not dying.
Breaking.
Seven pieces of light.
Then six.
Then another.
The pieces flew into the darkness beyond the dying world.
Loki watched them disappear.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Lexander stared.
“The Cycle.”
The First nodded slowly.
“My death began it.”
Loki’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
Everyone turned toward him.
Loki looked at Lexander.
“Your cowardice began it.”
The First stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Loki ignored him.
“You couldn’t accept death.”
Lexander felt the battlefield tremble.
“You shattered yourself.”
“No.”
The First’s voice cracked.
“I was dying.”
“And she was grieving.”
Loki’s eyes moved toward Lexander.
“You remember her now, don’t you?”
Frigg.
Io.
Standing beside his broken body.
Holding his hand.
Begging him not to leave.
Loki continued.
“So you did what you always did.”
His voice became cruel.
“You searched for a way to save someone you loved.”
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